Part 4

In stepping back a few paces, we just descried, over the opposite boundary, the top of Sugar-loaf, in dim and distant perspective. The sensations of a mariner, when, after a long voyage without sight of shore, he suddenly perceives symptoms of land where land was not expected, could not be more novel and curious, than those excited in us by this little silent notice of regions which we had literally forgotten,--so totally were we engrossed in our present enchantment, and so much were our minds, like our view, bounded by the sides of the glen. This single object let in a whole train of recollections and associations: but the charm could not be more gradually and more pleasingly broken. The glen, still retaining all its characteristic luxuriance, began gracefully to widen,--the country to open upon us, and the mountains to rise; and at length, after a gentle descent, we passed the Dargle-gate, and found ourselves standing over the delightful valley of Powerscourt. It was like the transition from the enjoyments of an Ariel to those of human nature,--from the blissful abode of some sylphic genius, to the happiest habitations of mortal men,--from all the restless and visionary delights of fancy, to the calm glow of real and romantic happiness. Our minds that were before confused by the throng of beauties that enclosed and solicited them on every side, now expanded and reposed upon the scene before us. The sun himself seemed liberated, and rejoicing in his emancipation. The valley indeed "lay smiling before us;" the river, no longer dashing over rock and struggling with impediments, was flowing brightly and cheerfully along in the sun, bordered by meadows of the liveliest green, and now and then embowered in a cluster of trees. One little field of the freshest verdure swelled forward beyond the rest, round which the river wound, so as to give it the appearance of an island. In this we observed a mower whetting his sithe, and the sound was just sufficient to reach us faintly and at intervals. To the left was the Dargle, where all the beauties that had so much enchanted us were now one undistinguishable mass of leaves. Confronting us, stood Sugar-loaf, with his train of rough and abrupt mountains, remaining dark in the midst of sunshine, like the frowning guardians of the valley. These were contrasted with the grand flowing outline of the mountains to our right, and the exquisite refinement and variety of the light that spread itself over their gigantic sides. Far to the left, the sea was again disclosed to our view, and behind us was the Scalp, like the outlet from Paradise into the wide world of thorns and briers.

From the Cincinnati Mirror.

PHRENOLOGICAL EXAMINATIONS.

There never was an important discovery presented to the consideration of men, which was not opposed by all the force that scepticism could call to its assistance.--Truths, which at the present time are universally recognized, had to accomplish conquests over many obstacles, before their necessity or importance was admitted. The all-important and sublime discoveries of Galileo, Newton and Hartly, were first sneered at, then ridiculed, after a while considered, and subsequently adopted. Truths do not burst in splendor from heaven on the benighted understandings of men; but their progress ever has been and ever must be gradual. Night, in the intellectual as in the outward world, relinquishes its empire slowly; and hence, doctrines appertaining to science, which seem at this time to contain within themselves the qualities of their own illumination, were originally rejected as unworthy of the sanction of the understanding.

Phrenology has offered no exception to the general rule which we have referred to. Whether it be true or false, it has at least participated in the destiny common to truth. It has been met at every stage of its progress with whatever of reason, ridicule, or wit, subtlety or ingenuity could suggest. Ardent opponents have inflicted what they have supposed deadly wounds upon it, and have anticipated the epitaph which would be written to its memory. But these visions have not, unfortunately for the reputations of those who indulged them, been realized; and the period at which they predicted the extinction of the science, has been the season of its proudest triumphs. If it be a heresy, it is a bold one; and, like that of the Albigenses, spreads most where opposition is deadliest.

Phrenology is emphatically a science of observation;--by it, it has been built up; and on it, it mainly depends. Observation and application form the tests of scientific doctrines, and they are invoked as the formidable auxiliaries of this science. To a mind disposed to investigate before it decides upon the merits of doctrines, a few interrogations present themselves forcibly. Among the advocates of phrenology, have not some names, remarkable for ability and inquiry, been numbered? Were these men imposed on by the fallacies of the science, or did they wish to impose a fallacy upon the credulity of others? Are not these suppositions effectually silenced by an appeal to the well-determined moral and intellectual qualities of those advocates? If phrenology be false, how has it happened that a science which triumphantly appeals to observation, and which, in consequence, must be susceptible of easy support or overthrow, has for years sustained itself against the combined efforts of genius and intelligence? Is it asked why scientific individuals have not universally ranged themselves under the banners of this science? Two answers immediately suggest themselves:--First; the reluctance with which the human mind ever foregoes or substitutes its acquisitions; and, secondly, the disinclination which men always manifest at prosecuting inquiries into the nature of doctrines which are not corroborated by previous studies, and which they are pleased to term innovations.

Phrenology must stand or fall by facts; supported by them, it must be sustained; opposed in this wise, it must fall. Without committing ourselves in favor of, or in opposition to its doctrines--for, in truth, we have not yet yielded its doctrines our assent--we desire to record a few facts which make for its truth, and which have come within our notice.

Doctor Powell, well known as an able and enthusiastic advocate of phrenology, at present lecturing in the city, confident in the truths of the science, pronounces upon character agreeably to the external configuration of the crania with fearlessness the most perfect. Since his arrival here, we have known him examine three different crania, which were presented to him for the purpose of testing the truth of phrenological doctrines. The two first were handed him by Mr. Dorfeuille, the intelligent proprietor of the Western Museum. The first one, which Doctor Powell saw, he immediately perceived the preponderance of the vicious propensities over the moral sentiments, and unhesitatingly said, its owner, according to the laws of the land, deserved hanging, if he were not actually executed. The second one was presented, and he forthwith pronounced its possessor equally bad with the former, although unpossessed of his recklessness, and greatly more cautious and secretive. Mr. Dorfeuille then stated, that the sculls belonged to two negro fellows who were executed some years ago in New Orleans, and whose heads after execution were stuck on pikes. The first fellow was notoriously vile and daring; the other was more shy, and against him no absolute proof could be brought; but he was convicted on evidence so strong as to defy the resistance of the judgment. The delineation of their characters upon the principles of phrenology he acknowledged to be most complete.

On last Monday evening, professor Cobb, of the medical college, sent a cranium to Doctor Powell for examination, in the presence of his class. He took it up and pronounced its prominent developments to be those of combativeness, destructiveness, secretiveness, acquisitiveness: he said that each of these propensities might have manifested itself singly; but the probability was that they co-operated, and the consequence was, that their subject was addicted to robbery on the highways, and was highly combative. After he had finished his examination, he called on professor Cobb to state what he knew of the character of the individual. He arose, and said that, so far as he was aware, the lecturer had determined truly. The skull had belonged to a Spaniard confined under suspicion of piracy, in the Cincinnati jail last winter, and who, while there, had committed suicide, and thus escaped trial.--An examination of his body proved what the lecturer had said in regard to his combativeness, as it was scarified in many places. We have since understood, that this Spaniard was arrested for attempting to stab a person in the street, and while in confinement, was recognized as a pirate, and, in order to avoid the consequences of a trial on the charge of piracy, he had cut the principal arteries of both arms, and died from the wounds thus inflicted. Dr. Powell had no intimation of the character of either of the individuals, which he portrayed with such exactness; but relied solely on phrenological science. If the doctrines be untrue, how are these results ascertained by them to be accounted for?

Our only object has been to give the lecturer as well as the science he espouses, the benefit of facts we have narrated, and to which they are so justly entitled. We leave comment for those who are curious upon the subject. We feel assured that what we have stated must be interesting to those who are desirous of investigating the science, for the purpose of determining the amount of plausibility on which it is grounded.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MR. WHITE,--As a subscriber and very sincere friend to your paper, let me beg of you to find room as soon as you can, for three extracts, all of which together, will not occupy more than three or four pages of the Messenger, and yet embrace as much deeply interesting matter on the all important subject of education, as can any where be found within the same compass. The first two you will find in the September number for the past year, of "_The Annals of Education_," a periodical published in monthly numbers of forty-eight pages each, for three dollars and fifty cents a year; or for three dollars if paid by the first of April, or for two dollars and forty cents if five copies are taken together and paid for in advance. Of this work I can affirm, without hesitation, that it contains more highly useful information on the subjects of which it treats, and at less cost, than all the other works together that are published in the United States on the same topics. Nay, I will venture farther to assert that there is not a parent or teacher in our whole country, who might not derive essential service from its perusal. This, my good sir, is no exaggeration, but my deliberate opinion; given, I acknowledge, with some hope of promoting the circulation of this highly valuable periodical from Yankee land, but without any other interest in it than every man ought to feel who is so thoroughly persuaded as I am, of the absolute necessity for educating our whole people on principles materially different from any that have yet been put into practice among us.

The third extract is from a new work by James Simpson, lately republished in New York and Boston, on "_The Necessity of Popular Education as a National Object_." The short introduction is all that I will ask you to insert in your paper, as I have persuaded myself to believe that no friend to popular education can read it without feeling a strong desire to peruse the whole volume. It contains a mass of facts, illustrations, and arguments, exhibited in a style at once so perspicuous, forcible, and persuasive, as must carry conviction to every understanding capable of comprehending and feeling the vital importance of the subject in all its bearings, both upon individual and national happiness. In numbers one and two of the appendix, the topics of criminal and medical jurisprudence are treated of in a manner which, although concise, is well worthy the deepest attention of every legislator and statesman, for they contain hints for improving our criminal code that seem to me of the utmost importance to the general good.

Deem me not importunate if I petition you to publish _another_ extract of quite a different character from the foregoing. It is from the pen of the admirable _Mrs. Norton_, and expresses conjugal affection with so much touching pathos, that surely no married man, especially one from the Emerald Isle, can read it without deep emotion. It is called

SONG OF THE IRISH PEASANT WIFE.

Come, Patrick, clear up the storm on your brow, You were kind to me once,--will you frown on me now? Shall the storm settle _here_, when it from Heaven departs, And the cold from without find the way to our hearts? No, Patrick, no; surely the wintriest weather Is easily borne, while we bear it together.

Though the rain's dropping through from the roof to the floor, And the wind whistles free where there once was a door; Can the rain, or the snow, or the storm wash away All the warm vows we made in love's early day? No, Patrick, no; surely the dark stormy weather Is easily borne,--so we bear it together.

When you stole out to woo me, when labor was done, And the day that was closing, to us seem'd begun, Did we care if the sunset was bright on the flowers, Or if we crept out amid darkness and showers? No, Patrick; we talk'd while we brav'd the wild weather, Of all we could bear, if we bore it together.

Soon, soon, will these dark dreary days be gone by, And our hearts be lit up by a beam from the sky; Oh! let not our spirits, imbittered with pain, Be dead to the sunshine that comes on us then: Heart in heart--hand in hand--let us welcome the weather, And sunshine or storm, we will bear it together.

From the New England Magazine.

A GLIMPSE AT BASIL HALL.

At the palace of the Prince Borghese in Rome, several young English and American artists were engaged, last winter, in copying the renowned productions of the old masters. Portray to yourself, kind reader, two large halls--the walls of which are lined with paintings, and intercommunicating by a side door, now thrown open for the benefit of the parties. In the first of these apartments are erected three easels--before which, in the attitude of painters, stand--first, a Virginian, intent upon the exquisite Magdalene of Correggio,--opposite, the native of a country town of Great Britain--transferring, as nearly as possible, the Prodigal Son, of the great Venetian,--while, within a few feet of the former, a Londoner is travailing for the inspiration of Titian, by contemplating his "Sacred and Profane Loves." The artists may thus be said to occupy, relatively, the three points of an isosceles-triangle. Gaze now, through the above-mentioned passage, and behold, at the extremity of the second and lesser hall, the figure of a Baltimorean--fancying, perchance, the surprise of the natives when they see _his_ copy of the inimitable Cupid beside him.

These worthy followers of the rainbow art were wont to amuse themselves, and beguile the time, with conversations upon the merits and manners of their respective countries; and occasionally, by a very natural process, such amicable debates would assume not a little of the earnest spirit of controversy. Then would the brush fall less frequently upon the canvass--their eyes linger less devotedly upon the great originals around, and ever and anon the disputants would step a pace or two from the object of their labors, raise aloft their pencils--as though, like the styles of the ancients, they subserved equally the purposes of art and of warfare, or wave their mottled pallets as shields against the errors of argument. A full history of these discussions, hallowed by the scene of the combat, diversified by the characters of the combatants, and disguised by the nature of the points contested--would doubtless be a valuable accession to our literature. The great topics of national policy, domestic manners, republicanism, aristocracy, slavery, corn laws, etc. as unfolded, in the elegant and discerning disputations of the absentees in a Roman palace, would prove something new, vivid and seasonable. But to me falls the humbler task of narrating one scene of the drama, as illustrative of the wisdom and safety of keeping one's own secret.

On a day, when the war of words had ran unusually high, there was a momentary, and, as it were, a spontaneous quietude. After the manner of their predecessors in the same city--years bygone, the gladiators rested upon their arms. There was an interlude of _silence_. They gradually reassumed the appropriate occupations of the hour. A few unusually fine touches were bestowed upon the slowly-progressing copies--when the aspiring portrayer of the beautiful parable thus opened a new cannonade:

"Well, smooth over, as you may, the blot of slavery--and deny or palliate, as you best can, the charge of non-refinement, the world will never admit the existence of true civilization in a country where so barbaric a practice as _gouging_ prevails."

At the commencement of this speech, the pencil of the Virginian had stopped transfixed within an inch of the pensive countenance on his canvass; and with nerves braced in expectancy, he awaited the issue. And when the orator, like a second Brutus, paused for a reply, his adversary was mute--perhaps from indignation, probably in the absorption consequent upon preparing to refute and chastise. The Londoner wheeled around, and, with a nod of congratulation to his brother islander, and a provoking and triumphant smile upon the Virginian, begged to be informed "of the origin and nature of the _American_ custom of gouging?" When lo! there were heard quick steps along the polished floors, and as the eyes of the artists followed their direction, the form of the Baltimorean emerged from the adjoining hall. His painter's stick, pallet and brush, were grasped convulsively in his left hand, as with energetic strides he reached the centre of the arena, and gazed meaningly upon the disputants.

"You would know, sir," he exclaimed, eyeing fiercely the hero of the British capital, "what is gouging? Go, sir, to Basil Hall--your literary countryman: when ascending the Mississippi, _he_ was put on shore by the captain of a steamboat for ungentlemanly deportment--and on the banks of that river, sir, _he was gouged!_" As the last emphatic words exploded, a gentleman, who had been viewing the paintings, abruptly left the room. The Londoner looked wonders, his compatriot tittered, the Cupid-limner wiped his brow. "Who was that?" inquired the Virginian. "That, sir, was Captain Hall!"

H. T. T.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE PASSAGE OF THE BERESINA.

"The moan of mortal agony which arose from the despairing multitude became at this crisis for a moment so universal, that it rose shrilly audible over the voice of the elements and the thunders of war, above the wild whistling of the tempest and the sustained and redoubled hourras of the Cossacks. The witness from whom we have this information, declares that the sound was in his ears for many weeks. This dreadful scene continued till dark, many being forced into the icy river, some throwing themselves in, betwixt absolute despair and the faint hope of gaining the opposite bank by swimming, some getting across only to die of cold and exhaustion."--_Scott's Napoleon, Vol. II. Page 385_.

What scene is here? The dying moan, the wailing cry Come on the gusty blast that speeds so swiftly by; The river rolls heavy as it struggles with dead, Who writhe in their blood ere the spirit hath fled-- And chafed by the winds in the wrath of the storm, Its red clotted waters flow tortured and warm. Thousands lie here; kindred and aliens in race, They are rigid and fixed in death's cold embrace; They clench and they cling in the last dying grasp, And the living, the dead, reluctantly clasp: Or, fearing a friend in his last cold embrace, They spurn him beneath to his dark dreary place. A many-voiced moan now saddens the air, Whose tones are all blent with wild curses and prayer; And the deep hollow moan that wails o'er the flood, As spirits pass away in storm and in blood. In the sad welkin tremble heart-rending shrieks, So piercing, that startled, the deep echo speaks. There's mirth that's of madness, one laughs in his fear, And prayer thrills in tones of the wildest despair; And the deep solemn curse from the blasphemer stern, Who weeps not, who wails not, tho' his dying soul burn. Oh spirits pass away so sad in their strife, That the living still cling more closely to life: With unearthliest cries, grim phantasied shapes Brood o'er the senses ere the spirit escapes; On the wings of the wind how swift speeds the blast, With pinions all viewless it fleets as the past;-- Oh say, does it bear the spirits that have fled, In the last bitter strife, ere the dying be dead? To the last dying sense comes a vision more dread, For Death flaps his wings o'er the fields of the dead: His deep hollow tones called away and away Spirits immortal, disengaged from their clay; And rearing aloft his deep sable plume, On wings of the wind rose in shadow and gloom, Still bearing them on with invisible trace, As he swept the broad fields of infinite space-- Whilst Terror, all wild in his deep, horrid lair, Made sad with his moans the invisible air.

The night wind sighs drear, in its last dying breath; The clouds fleet away, like the shadows of death, From the face of the moon, whose sepulch'red light Steals softly upon the dark bosom of night,-- As the last smile of hope, ere the spirit hath fled, Lingers tranquil and bright o'er the face of the dead.

ALPHA.

The lines which follow ought to be preserved in a more permanent form than the columns of a newspaper. They were written and published before Mr. Johnston's lamentable death. It will be recollected that he perished by the explosion of a steamboat, ascending the Red River.

After the above was penned, the melancholy intelligence reached us of Mr. Davis's death. Patriotism will mourn his loss, and the Columbian Muse hang a garland over his tomb.

From the Augusta (Geo.) Chronicle.

The following beautiful parody, which we met with in the hands of a respected friend, and were permitted by him to take a copy for publication, is attributed to the Hon. Warren R. Davis of South Carolina--a gentleman no less distinguished, admired and beloved for his many and striking literary acquirements, private virtues, social qualities, fine manners, polished, varied and brilliant wit and vivid fancy,--than for his ardent patriotism, open and fearless honesty, independence, eloquence, and disinterested devotion to his gallant and glorious state. It is said to have been written, on the sportive suggestion of the moment, as a contribution to the Album of the talented, accomplished and witty lady of the Hon. Mr. Johnston of the United States Senate from Louisiana. The old air of "Roy's Wife of Aldavalloch" is, we think, one of the most rare and beautiful specimens of that class of Scottish music, which was probably introduced from Italy, in the time of the brilliant but unfortunate Queen Mary.

PARODY.